


Light-Winged Smoke

by Nixargument



Category: Diablo III
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:05:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixargument/pseuds/Nixargument
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A troubled female Demon Hunter and her companions join forces against mounting obstacles. Thanks for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I, Odile, lived in a small town beside Kingsport. There was a famous dying swan in an ancient tale that I was named after. But I was no dying swan. There could be nobody more opposite to a swan; instead of a waddling, sideways gait, I strode in a straight line. My arms were small and sleek, rather than awkward wings. I had a short neck, a white face and straight black hair. My sister, Delphine, was short and dark-haired as well, but ran ragged, with waving hair, always enjoying herself, smiling and laughing. I loved Delphine. I always wondered why Delphine smiled and laughed, and didn't keep her clothes clean and neat. I was inverted and quiet, and preferred sitting on a rock or ledge, or stump, gazing out calmly as my sister ran about. My mother and father were farmhands and worked all day. Cara, our older sister again, worked on the farm as well.

The day I picked up my first bale of hay, conjoined with my mother and father and older sister, the demons came. It was an accident. Nobody knew whether the demons were stalking toward Kingsport, Caldeum or Westmarch: from where the town was placed, their eventual destination could have been any of them. But a maw opened up in the ground near the town, and hellspawn poured out. Nobody had any defence. The people in the farms died first. My parents were taken on the edges of the farm and I saw them fall down, one, two. Delphine, running under trees, saw me run toward her and without a word, drag her away.

"Why? Why are we going?" Delphine kept turning her head toward the edges of the farm from which she had been simply waiting for our parents and myself to return from our work.

"Go," I panted, "hurry. Into the house." I knew nothing about hiding. I had never even hidden from anyone in play. Delphine was good at hiding. I knew Delphine could curl into a tiny corner, fit into a box, crouch in a chest, stand stiffly behind the false wall of a wardrobe.

And that was where I would put my sister.

"Go up into mother's wardrobe. Hurry."

"Is this a game?"

"Yes. You have to stay there until you hear my voice. No matter what you hear, don't come out until you hear my voice. Go."

Delphine liked to protest, but I suppose it was the harsh note in my voice that made her hurry along further under my arm. She liked to argue in fun, but she was silent now. Hurry, hurry, up into the house. I opened the false wall in the wardrobe where my parents kept their few valuable possessions, and saw my sister rest her startled head on her grandmother's intricate quilt. There was quite a space behind there. I knew I could not stay. There was a risk: if my sister spoke to me when daemons were in the house, we would be discovered immediately. Neither of us had ever even seen a daemon. I didn't know what either of us would do if we saw one up close. Never mind a horde of them. But if Delphine knew it was a game, knew only to come out when she heard my voice, there was a chance. My mind flashed to Cara and our mother and father. Then it flashed back to the present. I acted immediately. I could only do what immediately came to me in the moment. I knew that. I knew I could only do what I could. Putting my finger to my lips, I shut the wardrobe door, tears of tension coming into my eyes as I did it.

Then I ran into the woods. First behind one tree, than another, the noises of thrashing and burning fading away. I almost became calm. Where should I hide? Did I even need to hide? Should I have taken Delphine here? My stride slowed to a calm gait. No; the only idea I had was to climb a tree, and Delphine was too clumsy to climb an inch. I staggered into the lower branches of a spreading tree, and pulled herself up one branch after another. At the top of the tree, I gazed out over my hometown.

One hovel, after another, lit up and burned.

No. They would burn the house. They would burn the house with Delphine in it. There was time to run back. I saw my friend's house go up in smoke. Lae. Was she inside? I leapt down from the tree seven branches up, fell on my ankle, and twisted and jarred it both at once. I had to find Lae and Delphine. And Lae's brother, Ospi. No, just Delphine, I thought, staggering on my ankle. Just Delphine. I couldn't go any further. I started to run, and then, as my ankle curdled under her bone, to limp. I limped into the town, hearing the noises come closer and closer. I burst into the wardrobe: Delphine was gone. Of course. Delphine didn't understand the concept of the game. To hide until she heard her sister's voice? What was the point of that? She would have wondered what it meant, and finally burst out to find me and question me. The quilt was gone: she must have been cold. I lurched backward and put her hands to her head.

There was nowhere I could go. I could only hope my sister had run into the forest. Surely Delphine would have run away from those noises.

I could look for Delphine in the forest. Somehow she could get her into a tree. Helping her up limb by limb on my hurt foot? I could barely climb now, myself.

Where did Delphine go when she was scared? Of course: her grandmother's grave. Whenever our father yelled at us, or something difficult happened, or our mother was angry, we both liked to go to their grandmother's grave and sit amongst the fragrent flowers and speak about what Laila – our grandmother – would say and think, what she would do. But would Delphine go there? Delphine wasn't stupid. If she saw or heard the demons, would she just run into the graveyard, where there was nowhere to go?

It didn't matter. I had to go there. I had to. That was the last place Delphine might be. If I found Delphine there, we could flee. And go where? Kingsport? Fine. I took the silver candlestick from behind the false wall, and my father's crossbow, and my mother's rose-gold bracelet, and bundled them into the sheet from the bed. Then I made tracks for the graveyard. My brains were not yet in despair. As long as my sister, - and perhaps Cara, were alright -

I loved her mother and father and the idea that they were gone was just beginning to come over me. I stopped to sob. Then the realisation that my sobbing might mean I missed Delphine, that because of my weakness and my vulnerability, my stopping just to let out one tiny noise, that Delphine might die, stopped me dead.

I would never stop to feel again.

The graveyard was on the edge of town. I had passed it running out of the village. There it was: I saw the outline against the crystalline sky, the white clouds streaking out from the cragging graves. It was drawing into evening. I ran into the picket gate, stopped as it hit me, and pushed it open. It was stuck on the ground.

There was something beside my grandmother's grave.

It was a twisted form, small, skin glowing bright red. It held a rounded club with awkward spikes jutting out of it at odd angles. It had small, slanted, black eyes. Horns. Tiny pointed ears. It stood over the body of my sister. And in my mind, that was it: every daemon that ever existed I saw and felt standing over her small, cold body. But this daemon looked up at me. My eyes met the eyes of the demon and I automatically attempted to find its pupils to gaze into. There were none: just black, oval holes.

My shaking arms moved. My trembling hands found the crossbow, and I was just breathing, breathing, breathing. A bolt. As the demon raised its club to elbow level, there was a crossbow bolt buried in its skull.

I breathed. A line of blood trickled calmly around the stems of plants toward me, finding a path easily. My legs gave out and I fell to my knees beside the grave of my grandmother and, now, the grave of my sister. I picked up the quilt, and moved it gently from the grasp of the small hand still searching for comfort, and simply fell down onto it.

I slept.

The next thing I knew, there were voices in the air around me. I could hear questioning inflections, then tones of calm understanding. All she could think of was, hazily, that there had been something to be questioned, and then the group of voices had decided on an answer.

I opened her eyes. Someone was tucking the quilt over me. But before I realised this, my hand whipped out and grabbed the person's arm, twisted. There was a grunt, and the pushing hands retreated. The wind whirled against my eyes. A flower hit me in the face. There was a strong smell of dirt. Then I remembered where I was and an angry, strained howl left my frame and was bore away on the wind. However, it was loud enough to make the shadows around me start back. Shadows! All I could think of was my father's crossbow. My hand stabbed first one way, then another. The voices sounded, alarmed, as I found the crossbow and raised it. Somehow my other hand found the bolts. The machine of pure instinct joined the one with the other and the bolt left the crossbow and sang into the air. A gabble of voices started to un-knit around her into individual sounds. The shadows came closer.

"Don't worry, she's - "

But another bolt had left its home and the voice stopped and became a harsh grunt, and then a groan.

"Gods!"

"Are you well?"

Hands came down on me then, hands stronger than mine, hands that seemed impossibly large, and wrestled the machine from me. My next instinct shot my arm out to my left where I had left my sister, an arm that curled around nothing. I let out a howl of anger.

"Are you well, Seth?" A woman's voice that time.

"No. She got me."

Another voice laughed, then fell away in embarrassed chuckles. Someone else laughed too. The woman's voice started to speak low to the man called Seth. I tried to sit up but hands were pinning me to the grave. The strange lustre left my vision as I blinked again and again.

"Sit down!"

"Lie down."

"No!" I heard myself say. "I'm never doing it again! I'm never doing what anyone else wants again!"

"What?"

"Other people could be wrong," I said, and spat out a small clump of dirt. My crossbow clicked as it was borne away into the air and I lunged for it. "Give me that!" I had chosen my moment; I had waited until the hands had slackened against me. I sprang free. I could now see people around me, all wearing cloaks and hoods of various colours, lunging toward me. I ignored their faces.

"Give me that!"

"Get her down!" It took five men to contain my movements; I moved as fast as a small eel, my body squirming into all manner of positions, and a strength in my limbs that I had never had to use before flooding into my body.

"Gods! She's holding us off!"

"All right, all right," the man called Seth was straightening up, a little way off, panting and holding his side, "reason with us, reason with us. We'll give you your crossbow back as long as you see us as allies. Speak to us."

A man was speaking to me like an adult. I felt my childhood ease off me like a shroud.

"I will," I said in a decided voice. The crossbow was hastily given back to me. "Where is my sister's body." My usual even, calm tone was piercing and cold.

"We were deciding what to do with her body," Seth said, "like many others."

"Let me be, then," I said. "Let me go."

"Where will you go?" 

"None of your business," I had to keep remembering who was speaking. Yes, that was my voice. It had a note of decision in it – like someone who knew what they were going to do until the end of their life. "Where are my things?"

A man to Seth's left, looking nervous, put down my sheet hastily made into a bundle.

"Don't worry. They're yours," Seth said.

"Who are you?" I was grabbing my bundle. It slipped and my things fell into the dirt. I tried to wrap the sheet around them again, but it was cumbersome and impossible to manage and lift without the fear of something escaping. I wanted my legs to be moving. I wanted to walk hard to keep myself from crying. I wanted to move; I was restless.

"We're survivors. We were looking at you sleeping; nobody seems to know you."

"My father and mother were farmhands."

"Ah," Seth said, "that would explain it. Did anyone ever go into the fields? No?"

I felt impatient.

"I would be grateful," I said coldly, "if you would give me a knapsack or backpack to carry my things with. I would just need to sell this bracelet; I can give you gold."

"Hold it," said Seth, and he stepped forward properly. I could see the wound I had given him standing out against his stomach. "You're lucky we found you. Don't be demanding favours of us. Besides, reflexes like that? We have a proposition for you. We're sorry about your sister."

"Don't be sorry," I said, "how dare you pretend to feel. It is my business and my sorrow. You did not know what she was."

"You think no one feels but yourself?" The woman who had spoken earlier took a step forward. She had shoulder-length shining red hair. She took down her hood. Barely healed slashes covered her face, not even once, but criss-crossing. "I'm Audra. I lost my entire family; my husband, my daughter."

"That must be terrible," I said, and meant it. Gazing at her, I realised what the expression in my eyes must have been at that moment. "I'm hasty. I apologize."

"I understand your pain and your need to get away," Audra said, "but Seth is right. Join us. Stay with us. You can't be older than seventeen."

"I'm fourteen."

"Perfect. I had never picked up a crossbow before yesterday. At your age, with your practice, we might be about the same level. Come with us. We can train together."

"Train for what?" I snapped.

"Killing them," Seth and Audra said at the same time, almost a mumble, and as they said it their eyes flashed.

"Them? You mean – the daemons." I said, and I finally stepped down off my grandmother's grave. "Yes. Yes. Yes." My arms and legs felt jerky, like I had never moved before. They moved a little too far when I moved them.

"There are warriors from the town guard here who can teach us to use weapons," said Seth, "I'm the son of the mayor of this town – well – he was the mayor," he spoke bitterly. "I lead this group."

"Yes. Yes," I said, moving toward him. "Of course I will."

"You're very strong," Seth said, "I don't know if it's the grief, but five of us could barely hold you down."

"I don't know. Good," I said.

"I'm very lucky," he said clearly, his face inches from mine, "that your aim was off. If you had known how to use a crossbow properly, I might be dead."

"I apologise," I said stiffly. I realised how little I was used to speaking to people other than my mother, father and sisters, and a few friends of our family. I hardly knew how to interact. I was simply saying what I knew was clear and concisely what I was thinking. I wanted people to hear my voice when I spoke, but not from yelling. I wanted my words to pierce like a crossbow. I wanted to drive my points home. I knew my words were valuable.

A crossbow was even more valuable.

I knew I was important. I was the only one left after the deaths of my family. I was alone for the first time in my life, and my stomach twisted as I realised the benefits of this. I was glad there was nobody from my family with me to see what I would become, what I had already become, judging from the voice I barely knew.

I did not want my family to see how much I wanted – needed – to kill daemons.

As I turned away in thought, I felt a knapsack being pressed into my hands. What I hoped, craved for, demanded, needed, and wanted, to be my last tear, came into the corner of my eye. I turned my face away, and dreamed about Delphine.


	2. Chapter 2

I, Odile, was twenty-two. My bags had been packed, and I had left my family – the only family I had left – behind. Audra was particularly sad to see me go. She knew I looked on her with great respect for her experiences in the town's attack, and so did I her. I was also one of the few people who could look on her face without looking like their stomach was turned, and that feeling showing in their expression. I had fought daemons now, many of them; we had searched them out in places where they had been known to hide, in caves, dark valleys, and many dark and dirty holes, and between all of us they had been overcome. I knew the face of evil, and nothing except that came close to turning my stomach. We had trained together. I had far outdone her: it had been noticed by all of us, the Daemon Hunters, that I had exceptional talent with a crossbow, once trained to use it, because of my natural strength and agility, which, I found, was greatly more than even the experienced men in our group.

Nobody had seen anything like it.

Seth finally suggested on my twenty-second birthday that I set out, able to hold back ten small daemons on my own, and become an adventurer. I told him that I did not want gold or jewels, or incredible relics or any other treasure. I wanted to avenge my sister. I wanted to kill daemonspawn. But I said I would become an adventurer. More and more, I came to want to be alone. I sometimes sat wrapped in a silence and gravity which no person could interrupt, or person's speech distract from, for hours, staring off into the distance. People soon learned not to interrupt me when this happened. They worried, but supposed it was part of my grief. It was, but that wasn't all. I was gazing into a void, into the darkness itself. I usually sat on a stump near our camp and looked into the forest when night had fallen. And then, I simply gazed at the flat, dark, deep, silent darkness. I do not know if any thoughts crossed my mind when this happened. I just knew that I was watching something. Gazing at something. Something.

I wore my leather armour and boots to set off, and Seth gifted me something special: a hand crossbow.

"It's lighter and neater, and fires much faster than your father's crossbow," he said, "you can rapidly fire one arrow after the other. And if you find or buy another, you can learn to wield two of them."

I liked the idea. Trying them, I found they certainly suited me. I armed myself with a few hundred of their small bolts.

Seth, who had grown older and swarthier, and I, stood together quietly in the middle of the camp. Our white tents lay quietly around us, and leaves drifted down into my hair. Seth reached out and made to peel it from my hair, and my stomach gave a small tingle as he did it, but that startled me. I slammed his hand against a rock.

"I guess that's your way of saying, 'Don't do that'," he cringed and shook his hand, "the number of times you've hurt me on purpose. It's like I'm the enemy."

"You are not the enemy," I said to him, cool.

"Anyway, you look good. Odile, when you get back – no – I get ahead of myself - "

And he leaned forward and kissed me. I pulled back, awkwardly, more from unfamiliarity than anything. A cricket screamed between us. I watched it. I like the natural world. I love beautiful, flourishing towns and country.

"No?" Seth's expression was half disdain, half disappointment. "I thought you - "  
"You thought - " I struggled to say anything. It was my first kiss. "Wrong. I'm going away."

"When you get back, Odile, please marry me. You have grown into a fine woman. It would mean a lot in these dark times, to be together. People should take happiness while happiness is possible. We can have children. We could protect them."

My mind whirled with ideas and new strangenesses. I had known how he had begun to look at me. I thought of peace. I thought of children. I thought of being happy.

"No," I said, "if I saw any of my children die before me, especially in the way our families died, it would break my mind forever. For another thing, I don't know if I could be happy married to you. I am different to you. I am solitary. Don't push me in this way. Besides, I am going away. I may never come back. But I'll be doing what I must: trying to save innocent people's lives from daemonspawn."

"Ah," he said, and ran a hand through his brownish-blonde hair, and cocked his eyebrows, "yes, Tristram, that's where you said you wanted to go. And you like to be alone," he sighed, "it's a burden – wanting to be alone. People who want to be alone come to rely on being solitary, and everyone knows deep down it is sharing your lives with others that makes a person happy."

"Not necessarily," I replied coldly, "I know what makes me happy right now. That is killing. That is saving lives. None of what you said is what I want. Perhaps I am one of the few people who is truly happy being alone." More leaves fell. Where we were, it was autumn. The leaves were golden and brown; various shades of dead. Knotted trees grew on all sides of the camp. Even the ground had a golden-brown sheen.

"So, I assume, you're not going to Tristram to loot the old Cathedral, like every other adventurer."

"I am insulted that you would even suggest that."

"Saving lives."

"If there are any left. I heard there was some kind of star, or meteorite, or rock, that fell into an old cathedral there, and dead bodies are rising from their graves because of some strange power emanating from the stone. I must try and kill as many as I can. And find as many people who may be trapped or in danger as I can."

"I admire your courage. Fighting the small daemons that spring up now and again, waiting if there is another assault on a town, is one thing - "

"They don't know where the dead are coming from. Just like we don't know where hellspawn come from, exactly. Hopefully there aren't many of them."

"- but fighting the dead? Dead corpses?"

"I know. But there is evil there. And so, I am going to go. Now."

"I know," Seth was smiling.

"Here," I reached over and gave him my father's crossbow, a great honour in my eyes, "take care of the town as it's rebuilt."

"Grigg will not suffer like that again," he said, softly, "I swear it. We will stop anything that threatens that town."

I gazed at him blankly, but inside hope had began to perch and flutter anxiously inside my chest. I had great hopes that my hometown would be just the way it was before. But – without my family in it. I had no more time to think about it. I had to act. I turned, went to my tent, and packed a bag. I took supplies and all the gold I had.

"Goodbye," I said to him. I had already said goodbye to the others before.

"Akarat bless you," said Seth. I nodded.

"And you," I added softly. "I hope – I mean, maybe – you will have a wife and children if I see you again."

"You don't want me to wait?"

"No. Don't wait for me." I waved over my shoulder. Finally I put on my hood and scarf. I was ready to go.


	3. Chapter 3

I, Odile, had come to New Tristram. It had been a day's journey, and I had travelled on a caravan. There had been questions from the other rather jolly people on the caravan, all laughing and joking and sharing wine with each other, about who I was and where I was from, but I merely said I was an adventuer heading to New Tristram. They were silent for a moment, and a man said,

"Dangerous place, that. Didn't you hear about the dead rising from their graves?"

I said that I had. It was raining and the horses were slowing their pace. It suddenly seemed dark inside the caravan. Lightning flashed, thunder cracked; all lit the frightened face staring at me inside the covered wagon. The man looked down, frowned, and then finally said,

"All I'm saying is I'm glad I'm not going to bloody New Tristram." A woman suggested wine to alleviate the dark atmosphere. She offered me a goblet. I accepted it. I don't like to have my wits dulled by drink, but at the same time, it is my weakness. It stops the demons howling in my head; it stops their taunts and their jeers, eases the images that plague my mind. I sipped slowly.

"You're a pretty girl," said an old man opposite me at the back. I ignored him, and pulled my hood slightly forward on my head.

Four hours later the rain had stopped, and so had the caravan. It drew up at the start of a dark road.

"Half an hour's walk to New Tristram," said the Caravan Leader cheerfully, "everything with you? Can I tempt you with anything from my supplies?"

"No, thank you," I said, smiling at his happy manner. I started down the road alone.

Half an hour later I realised I was at my destination. A cracked, bloodied sign read "New Tristram". I looked at the blood. It was fresh. There was a cart overturned beside the road, and grey-green pots strewn about fallen from it. I looked into the pots for anything anyone might need down in the town. There was rotten meat in the pots, filled with maggots. I backed away calmly. Then I saw the body. It looked like a tradesman: not ravaged by daemons, but just nibbled at the neck. What had killed this poor man?

The rest of the landscape was grassy; trees lined the road, and lights burned inside the town distantly.

The road was brown and simply dirty. Large-leaf plants lined the road. I fought two undead on the road before I came to the town gate, which was watched by two guards in towers. A man stood before me. He was dressed in a rough red tunic, a belt, and had a rusty sword at his side. An ill-fitting helmet on his head.

"Hello," I said simply, "I come to seek the evil that has risen in the wake of the star that has fallen on this land."

"An adventurer, eh?" said this New Tristram guard, "I'm Captain Rumford," he had a pleasant, rough face. I liked his manner; he reminded me of a farmer. I had grown up a farmer's daughter. "Leah – she survived the blast the star made in the old cathedral. You should speak to her. She'll be in the Slaughtered Calf Inn."

I shook his hand.

"Your name?" he asked.

"Odile," I said. I found I would not be unhappy to be on first name terms with this man. He had a title, however. He was Captain Rumford, and I would call him that out of respect – for now. The doors had to be closed then, since more of the shambling dead were coming, but working together, Captain Rumford and I dispatched them, sword and hand crossbow, and knife, working together.

I had been, once I left Seth and Audra, the best fighter they had by far. I could flip and roll and avoid attacks at startling speed. I could throw knife after knife with accuracy, precision and deadliness. My aim with my hand crossbow was perfect and I could shoot almost one after another with striking speed. I even seemed to have endless sources of energy and strength. I could go without sleep. I could run faster than any of them, much faster, and for miles and miles longer; in fact, I never tired. Seth and Audra said that if I had been a Barbarian, when I died they would have added me to their god-ancestors. I told them that it had to be my anger and hatred againts daemons, my memory of Delphine, my sister, my friend, and my other family, that was lifting me above what was normally expected of a person in strength and skill. I did, indeed, never tire. That was what had eventually given me the confidence to take on such a mission on my own.

Seth had told me he had never admired a person so much before. He was often in my thoughts. He was pleasant, looked deep into my eyes, and took me very seriously. He had given a slight sliver of further confidence to me.

"Thanks," said Captain Rumford, sweating deeply, but I was never and would never be offended by someone having exerted themselves and being sweaty. Ever. "I shall see you later, I hope."

He was a simple soul. I did like simple souls. I like innocent people. As long as they are not stupid.

I walked into the town. A morose man standing beside a wagon of burning bodies looked up at me.

"Curse these dead bodies. We burn them hour after hour," he said to me, not seeming to care whom he was speaking to, "at least, however, they'll never rise again."

"Yes. Thank Akarat for that," I replied darkly. I was a serious person, as is now known, quite dark, and I only ever say what I am thinking. I do not 'chat'. I gazed at the man pulling the bodies off the wagon and pushing them onto the fire.

"You are brave," I told him, "you could catch disease."

"What ever it is, what ever I - " he seemed even too tired to form a sentence and I realised he was so tired, he did not even care what he was doing. It was not bravary, it was apathy.

I walked a few steps further, looking around at the dark brown, boarded up buildings, and a man standing listlessly next to one of these buildings looked up at me.

"Hello," he said. He had a blue bandana and an ironic smile; I did not really like the look of him.

I was unflinching, and said,

"What is it."

"I came here to study the fall of Old Tristram. But this is closer to the town's history than I want to be."

"I do not care," I said, "if you came here and the attacks started, I am sorry for you, but from the look on your face, you are interested in talking to a woman. I am not available."

"Hmph," he said, "sorry to bother you, woman. I am a scholar, and I thought you might benefit from my knowledge and we may talk."

"I do not know about this town's history," I said, "but I do not need to know about its history to know that it needs help and I can give it that help."

I drifted away, ignoring him. The buildings were stone and wood, far from the thatched houses I had once knew. This town was a pisspot, and Grigg, my hometown, had been poorer, but I still considered my hometown a thousand times more beautiful. The open fields of wheat, sweeping wind touching every stalk, the simple houses spaced out so everyone had a yard and their own area, the flourishing trees. It was not because this place had dead bodies in it; it was the town itself.

I walked past a man with the robes of a healer. I smiled at him.

"Thank you for remaining here to help the living," I said, and gave him one of the five gold coins I had on me.

"I could hardly help the dead, could I?" he said, smiling benevolently. "Thank you very much, maid."

I realised with a little bewilderment that I was a maid. I considered myself grown up; worldly, my world darkened forever, my only purpose being killing demons. Revenge. Vengeance. Forever. That was as grown up as you could get – yet, at nineteen, I had never known a man. It was strange to be thinking that and looking at a healer and a priest, a celibate man. I managed to keep these thoughts to myself, nod, give a solemn smile to him and move on.

I stepped into the main square. A man was howling about his lost friend. My insides shrunk desperately for him. He had lost someone. He knew how it was. Next to him was the blacksmith. I glanced up at him from under my hood and as I was struggling for my words and my purse, he said,

"Nothing ever seems to change in New Tristram. There's always the threat of the living dead or some uprising of monsters to put everyone in terrible danger." He sounded dry and worldly. I was also rather dry and worldly, and our eyes connected and shared a rolling.

"I imagine not," I agreed, "hell is everywhere and all we can do is what we can do. Everyone simply must do the limit of what they can. If they cannot fight, they should do what they can for those tho can fight."

"Ah," he said, "a fighter. I see you are a fighter. Ne'mind whether or not you're a girl and you're slight. I can tell you have the sort of power that would put demons to the steel. What are you looking for there in that little bag? I'm afraid I don't make something for nothing."

"I would like a hand crossbow. I am able to fire two at once."

"That will be twenty-five gold for a basic, apprentice's hand crossbow."

"I have four pieces."

"I like you," said the blacksmith, "but I'm afraid according to what you say, we must all support the fighters, and I can't support the fighters if I give weapons away for free and don't use my money to make even better weapons."

"I entirely understand," I said, "may I know your name, should we continue to do business?" I could relate to this man, but I sensed he shrunk from any interest in women; I could sense some sort of loss in his air. Perhaps he had lost a sister or a mother or a wife. Perhaps he liked other men. I did not know. I could not tell you how I would have seen him had he displayed an interest.

"Haedrig Eamon," he said clearly; I imagined people had asked him to repeat it before.

"Odile. I hunt demons. You were right about me."

"Well, I hope you hunt all forms of evil and not just demons. The risen dead, for instance. We do have rather a wee problem with them," he said sardonically.

"I noticed. I shall certainly see to them. Goodbye – for now, sir," he was a skilled artisan, and it was polite to call him sir.

"Don't call me sir," he said, embarrassed, "call me Haedrig."

I saw the Slaughtered Calf nearby. But I saw a by-road that I wanted to move down. Some nut had dragged his cart right across it. I gestured to it. Our exchange was rather rapid.

"Move your cart. This road is blocked."

"How dare you! I am the Mayor of this town!"

"I don't care. Move your cart."

"You should be helping me escape! Anyone with a grain of sense would escape with me! This town is doomed!"

"Coward. You should be staying to help in any way you can. You are meant to be the leader here. I will remember what sort of person you are – I will remember you – and that makes me angry. I don't want to remember a coward."

I walked straight into the lit doorway of the Slaughtered Calf Inn. There was a large book embroidered on the cover with 'History of New Tristram.' I wasn't interested in how the town had come to be. I walked on. I could not – I did not know who 'Leah' was. She could have been any one of the women standing about, with their tight expressions, looking worried and creased, gossiping. I looked down on the injured men lying on their makeshift stretchers in the corner, wishing I was a healer as well as a fighter. I really, truly wished I was a healer; being a healer and a fighter would give me, sometimes, a feeling close to happiness.

I went to the bar, gave away another gold piece.

"A beer?" he said, offering one.

"No," I said, "I don't drink." I had decided that, with a mission like this, it was not what I would do. "Please tell me who Leah is; where she is, more exactly."

"She is over there. The pinkish-red tunic."

It looked more crimson than pinkish-red, but I wasn't about to argue with such a petty detail. I made my way over to the young woman, three gold in my purse. She was standing with her arms folded. She was young and rather beautiful, and appeared vulnerable, yet extremely determined. Also, rather bright. I liked her hair; it was in a sensible cut. My hair covered my face partly and I liked it; it resembled my hood in shape.

My hood I had taken down once I stepped into a public house.

"Hello," I said, "Leah, is it? I am here to help your town. I am a trained fighter."

"I'm glad," she said, "a messenger told me that you had arrived; Odile, - so, I did survive the blast in the cathedral, but it blasted my uncle, Deckard Cain, into the depths of it."

"Do not despair. I shall find him if I can, and at the same time destroy as many of these risen dead as possible."

"Thank you. - watch out!"

I turned. I raised my weapons. The six risen dead, who had overcome the souls of the poor sick men, were soon dispatched; the girl Leah, my age, was also quite a good shot with her bow. However, she was not the endless reloader that I was. She did not have my skill. But it was good that she had a way to defend herself. There was something deeply vulnerable about her; - but at the same time, she was not weak.

"Thank you again," she said, with an amused smile that was unexpected considering the situation, "speak to Captain Rumford. He can tell you what to do."

I walked back swiftly through the town, and I must admit, it empowered me to be alone. I did not want to see or meet other adventurers. To be alone was to be without distraction and to keep control.

"What can I do to fight these risen dead?" I asked him.

"Are you sure?"

"Very. If I die, I die."

"I admire your courage," he said, with his rough, earnest, and half-cheerful face, "only I survived the last attack. Try to kill this – risen handmaiden of the queen – her head headmaiden, I mean, her head handmaiden. She has risen as a powerful demonic zombie in Old Tristram."

"Thank you for your instruction," I said, laughing at his miswording, "I like you, Rumford." I could not help myself.

"Really? You? You are already an important person around here. I only serve."

"You are a brave man, and – you remind me of the farmers I grew up around."

"I was a farmer before I was in the militia. I cannot believe I have survived."

"Farmers are fit and strong. They have instincts about other living creatures. They understand land and what grows in it. They will have advantages in many situations with these attributes."

He nodded, his helmet-band dripping with sweat.

"You know more than me," he said simply.

"I do not know," I said.

We stood staring at each other under the lights.

"I shall see you again," we said at once. I did not smile at him, but I was pleased to know him.

I went off into the wilderness.


End file.
